


Hood

by redtailedhawk90



Series: There Is Nothing To Blame On The Mirror [4]
Category: The Room Where It Happened (Podcast)
Genre: Frottage, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Missing Scene, Naked Cuddling, Spoilers through Episode 35
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 21:51:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17670785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtailedhawk90/pseuds/redtailedhawk90
Summary: \ ˈhu̇d\Noun1. a flexible covering for the head and neck2. (falconry) a covering for a hawk's head and eyes to calm him or prevent him from reacting to things.As Tseer and Wyatt trek across Winter, they come to an impasse.





	Hood

"I don't see why we can't find a better crossing upstream," said Tseer, sullen, from behind Wyatt. Or, at least Wyatt thought he sounded sullen. It was still hard to tell, sometimes--although they'd been traveling together for several weeks--but looking back at his companion, Wyatt found him with his arms crossed, glaring at the expanse of black ice in front of them, so he thought it was a good bet.

Wyatt sighed and gestured at the frozen river, the ice glittering in the light of the full moon. "Even I know that could take days--if we even found one--and we don't exactly have that kind of time."

"The other side is at least five hundred yards away!" Tseer argued, clicking his beak in annoyance. "We don't know how thick the ice is, or how fast the water is moving beneath it. It looks like another blizzard might be moving in. If you would just let me fight the redcaps--"

"They nearly killed you and me both," interrupted Wyatt, gesturing to the hastily-wrapped bandage on Tseer's thigh. They'd only been walking a few hours since nightfall, and already Wyatt could see the dark stain of blood spreading through the cloth. His own leg throbbed and burned so much that he had to keep reminding himself that it was just phantom pain born from their connection.

"The river will kill us just as surely."

"If they catch us again, we're dead. If we try to keep up our current pace with you wounded like that, we're dead. Crossing the river will be the surest way to lose them." Wyatt pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to control his anger. They didn't have _time_ for puerile arguments.

"I can fight red caps!" Tseer blurted out. His voice sounded strained--or was Wyatt imagining it?--and it echoed momentarily across the frozen plain around them. Wincing, he lowered his voice. "I can fight red caps," he repeated. "I can't fight water."

Wyatt studied Tseer. His feathers were pulled tight to his body, which was strange, considering he'd spent almost all of his time in the weeks since they'd entered Winter as fluffy as possible to preserve warmth. He was also panting, his breath puffing out in short, quick bursts from his open beak, and his pupils were blown wide. All together, it was such a foreign look on Tseer that it took Wyatt several moments to realize what was happening.

By Wyatt's reckoning, they had been in the feywild for about a month and a half. In that time, they had faced death in myriad forms: starvation, freezing, poison, displacer beasts, angry treants, a horde of giants, hags, werebeasts, each other, and most recently, red caps. Not once had Tseer ever balked. He'd always taken their situation in stride and met each obstacle as it came--often with a fist to the face. But now, faced with this river...

Tseer was afraid.

The realization cooled Wyatt's anger. He could understand fear; he'd experienced plenty of it. Without his magic he was basically useless, and he'd had to rely on Tseer for almost everything--it wasn't exactly the sort of situation that led to him feeling courageous and empowered. Normally, he would applaud Tseer for engaging in the better part of valor, but Tseer's injury was costing them too much time. If they didn't cross now, they'd be caught tonight. He opened his mouth to say something reassuring, when he caught sight of movement in the distance. Far behind them, just emerging from the trees, were several small figures. _Niceties won't work quickly enough,_ Wyatt thought. _And if you tell him they're here, he'll just want to turn and fight._

Hating himself for it, and not sure why, Wyatt switched tactics. "What, are you _scared_?" he asked with every ounce of derision he could force into his voice, and raised an eyebrow. The effect was immediate. Tseer's beak snapped closed and he turned his fierce gaze to Wyatt. He straightened his spine, drawing himself up to his full height and puffing out his feathers.

"Excuse me?" he said, his voice dangerously low. As if on cue, a clap of thunder sounded from the gathering clouds, shaking the ground.

"I'm just saying," Wyatt continued, watching over Tseer's head as the figures in the distance slowly grew larger, "it sounds like maybe you're just trying to find excuses not to cross." He snorted and rolled his eyes. "It figures that all that bravado is for show."

For a long moment, Wyatt watched Tseer wrestle with his fury. He kept a smirk on his face as he waited, tamping down his impatience. Tseer clenched and unclenched his talons. Then, with a tightly controlled screech of rage, he stormed forward. Wyatt thought for a moment that Tseer was going to attack him, but he just brushed violently past, out onto the ice. Without wasting another second, Wyatt followed him.

Between Tseer's injury and the slickness of the ice, their pace was painfully slow. They'd only made it about a hundred yards by the time the red caps reached the shore. As Wyatt had hoped, the river appeared impossible for them to cross. They waved their sickles in the air, their frustrated screams lost to the wind.

They kept walking. Wyatt waited until they were more than halfway across before calling out, "Tseer, behind us!"

Tseer's shoulders were still tight with anger, but they had been in the feywild long enough that Wyatt knew he wouldn't ignore him. They had learned the hard way that it was too dangerous to do so. Sure enough, Tseer whirled around, sliding easily into a fighting stance and pushing Wyatt behind him with one arm. The motion was instinctive, and Wyatt was forcibly reminded of every other time Tseer had planted his body between Wyatt and danger. Guilt washed over him, souring his stomach.

"On the bank," he clarified. "It looks like the river stopped them." The red caps were still there. He just barely caught a hint of red on their heads, glistening and wet, before the wind picked up and dark clouds covered the moon. Tseer straightened and let his fists fall to his sides, his expression more inscrutable than ever.

"Oh," Tseer said, his voice clipped. "Of course, now we're too far away to turn back. Perfect timing on your part, really."

Wyatt blinked and frowned, inwardly cursing himself. He kept underestimating Tseer's intelligence. "I don't know what you mean."

"Just because I show my anger," Tseer spat, "doesn't mean I can't recognize when someone is goading me." He pushed at Wyatt's chest, causing him to take a step backwards. "I thought you were just being an ass, but no! You were purposefully manipulating me to force my hand!"

Heat rose in Wyatt's chest and he pushed Tseer back. "I had to do _something_! You would have gotten us both killed!" He pointed angrily at the shore. "Tell me now that you wouldn't have tried to stand and fight them, and I'll apologize." Tseer glared up at him, beak pressed tightly closed, and Wyatt laughed. "Exactly! Fucking exactly!" Snow began to fall, whipping around them and collecting on Tseer's head and shoulders. Steam rose from Wyatt's clothes and hair. "You can't fight everything, Tseer," he said. "And if you don't learn that now, you won't get the chance to learn it the hard way." Wyatt turned on his heel and started stalking away, knowing Tseer would follow whether he wanted to or not.

He got five steps.

A tingling sensation washed over him, standing the hairs on his arms on end, and the night split apart with a terrifying crash. Wyatt stumbled, blinded by the brilliant flash of light. _Too close,_ he thought as he checked to make sure he was still whole. _Way too close._

__"We have to get off this lake!" he shouted over the wind. He looked back over his shoulder, his anger at Tseer already pushed aside. Tseer was frozen, wings outstretched, in the same place Wyatt had left him. His head flicked this way and that, as if he was searching for the source of a sound. As the ringing in his own ears faded, Wyatt felt the blood leave his face.

_Eyap! Pew! Ptoo! Ptoo! Ptoo!_ Beneath them, the ice buckled and shifted as fractures ran across its surface. Wyatt could imagine them racing out from the point the lightning had struck, zigging and zagging under the layers of snow. He held his breath. Tseer couldn't fly--the magic linking them made it difficult under the best conditions, but in the middle of a storm, unable to trust the ground under his feet, it would be impossible--and what little remained of Wyatt's magic could only make things worse. They could only wait and pray that the ice would settle.

The ice continued to squeal and groan.

Then, there was a crack like a whip. Wyatt dove for Tseer's talon, but he wasn't fast enough. In a flurry of feathers, Tseer was pulled under by the rushing water. A wall of cold washed over Wyatt, seizing his lungs in its icy claws, and was followed immediately by the gut-wrenching pull of their bond. He gagged and fell to his knees at the edge of the newly gaping hole. Every instant that passed was agony as Tseer was dragged farther and farther away by the current. It felt like someone had shoved a white-hot brand into his intestines. He wanted--needed--to do something, but his muscles didn't respond properly. Tears streaming down his face from the pain, he pitched forward, following Tseer into the river.

Everything was lost in the darkness. Wyatt tumbled, unable to tell up from down, unable to see, unable to feel anything other than pain. No, that wasn't true. There was something else besides pain. Fire bubbled through his veins, rising up in his chest with a promise of safety. His mind reeling, it took everything in his power to push down the instinct to regenerate. He had to hold out, had to find Tseer, had to--

He crashed into something soft and yielding. He forced his fingers to reach out, to grasp, to hold, and felt feathers. A wing, limp, extended downstream. The burning of the bond dissipated and Wyatt reached out with his other hand, clawing against the current. Around them, he could feel a web of something thick and fibrous, and hurried exploration discovered one of Tseer's feet caught in the mesh. He tried not to think about how lifeless Tseer's body felt and wrapped his legs around Tseer's torso, crossing his ankles under Tseer's wings. With one hand wrapped around the strongest fiber he could find, he worked at untangling them.

His efforts were slow and clumsy, but finally, Tseer's talon came free. Wyatt's lungs screamed at him as he pulled them up the fiber--or at least, in a direction that he hoped was up. His fingers met dirt and for a moment, despair washed over him.

Then his back hit ice.

Wyatt thanked whatever gods were listening and struck out with his fist, to no avail. He did it again, and again, feeling his knuckles split and his bones crack, but the ice was inches thick. His muscles slackened. Fire surged in his chest, and this time, he let it.

There was an explosion of heat. The water around them boiled away and expanded, shattering the ice and blowing it into the air. Wyatt's head broke the surface and he gasped for air, drawing it into his lungs in heaving gulps.

They were at the shore, at the base of an immense tree. Wyatt flailed and grabbed a branch, then dragged the two of them onto land, quivering with the effort. He wanted to lay down and never do anything ever again, but Tseer was still unconscious. And not breathing. _Unconscious, not dead. He can't be dead,_ gibbered a voice in the back of his mind. Cradling Tseer's head, Wyatt clasped his beak tight with one hand, sealed his mouth over Tseer's nares, and exhaled. He watched Tseer's chest rise and fall, then repeated the process. On the fifth try, Tseer coughed. Wyatt rolled him on his side just in time for him to throw up water. He coughed and heaved some more before finally settling--his breaths labored and his body still limp.

Wyatt's entire body felt numb with cold, even though his skin was still hot enough that it instantly vaporized any snow that he touched and he could see blisters forming on Tseer's cere where his lips had touched him. Around them, snow was falling in heavy, fat clumps, limiting visibility to almost nothing. Wyatt didn't know where they were, or which side of the river they were even on. Shelter, they needed shelter more than anything.

Wyatt wasn't good at this. Tseer was their survivalist. He was the one who always knew what to do. Pulling at his hair, Wyatt cast about for something they could use. The snow here wasn't deep enough to dig into, and he didn't want to move away from the tree, lest he lose track of it and Tseer in the blizzard. The tree itself was enormous--easily four or five times Wyatt's armspan in circumference--but devoid of leaves, its thick, gnarled roots rippling out from the base. Snow piled up on the windward side, but the trunk was large enough that it blocked the wind leeward. Wyatt dragged Tseer around the tree to at least get him out of the wind, and then he saw it: a hole leading into the ground, under a root.

It was a sizeable burrow. Wyatt figured he could easily fit his shoulders through, and on closer inspection he found that was true. Even better, the den underneath the tree was empty, and large enough that Wyatt was able to drag Tseer in with him. _Now what?_ he thought. The air in their new shelter was already warming up just by virtue of the heat radiating off of Wyatt, but Tseer's clothes and feathers were still soaked, and he still couldn't be roused. You were supposed to take off wet clothes, right? And use skin-to-skin contact? Wyatt was pretty sure that was a thing. They hadn't done that the past several times they'd--Wyatt's brain skipped over the word _cuddled_ \--to keep Tseer warm, but Tseer had also been conscious then. And not almost dead.

Without giving himself time to think about it, he set about unbuttoning Tseer's shirt so he could pull it off over his wings. He did the same with Tseer's pants, undoing the clasp that kept them up over his tail. Then he carefully unfurled Tseer's wings as much as he could in the small space, and shucked off his own clothes. Keeping his back to the entrance of the burrow to block out the cold, he crawled over and pressed himself to Tseer's front, pulling him close. He couldn't stretch out straight, so instead he bent his knees and threaded his legs with Tseer's, purposefully ignoring the way a different sort of heat pooled in his belly. If they survived this, there would be time to unpack that later. Now, though, Tseer's heart hammered erratically against Wyatt's chest and his breath fluttered in fits and starts against his cheek. There was nothing to do but wait and hope. Wyatt closed his eyes and counted Tseer's heartbeats, but didn't get very high before exhaustion overtook him. He wrapped his arms tight around Tseer and fell asleep as the thundersnow outside rumbled on.

Wyatt woke in the morning when Tseer stirred. His brain foggy and his arms full of something fluffy and soft that was pulling away from him, he grumbled and nuzzled closer. Tseer froze, which Wyatt counted as a victory until Tseer cleared his throat.

"Uh, Wyatt?" he whispered, voice wavering. "Are you awake?"

"No," Wyatt said with a humph. He buried his face in Tseer's neck and inhaled. "Ten more minutes." He was _comfy_ , and it had been weeks since he had last been this relaxed. Tramping all through the Feywild, eating undercooked rabbit, being chased by monsters--why couldn't they take a break? Hell, he'd fished Tseer's frozen ass out of a river last night, he'd earned ten more--

Wyatt opened his eyes, the world coming back to him. The den was still dark. He and Tseer were a tangle of arms and legs and wings. Tseer's breath was slow and steady against his ear, a counterpoint to the racing--but now rhythmic--beat of his heart against his chest. A flush spread across Wyatt's cheeks and down his neck. He was suddenly very conscious of how close they were--how _naked_. His thigh was wedged high between Tseer's legs, and Wyatt realized that his chest wasn't the only place he could feel Tseer's heartbeat. Breath hitching, all of his attention narrowed to the hard line of heat where Tseer's groin pressed up against his pelvis.

_Well_ , thought Wyatt. _That's a surprise_.

He was pretty sure that Tseer still hated him. The fact that they had to trust each other was irrelevant to that, and while a lot of the vitriol Tseer displayed towards him had cooled since they'd entered the Feywild, that didn't mean it was gone. Which was just as well, frankly. Wyatt had ruined Tseer's life enough. This was probably just morning wood. He should ignore it and get on with their day.

But.

It was an interesting data point. He had a unique opportunity here to gather valuable information, and it would be a shame to waste it.

For the sake of experiment, he tightened his embrace and nuzzled Tseer's neck once more. Tseer's talons twitched against his back, then stilled, but he didn't pull away. Wyatt rocked his hips forward. Did he imagine a small sound coming from Tseer's throat? Doubling down, Wyatt ground himself against Tseer again, drawing the motion out to maximize friction. This time, he was rewarded by a soft, breathy moan in his ear. It traveled straight down his spine and into his cock, making him hard so fast he felt dizzy. Fire ignited in his chest and his brain stuttered to a halt.

They laid there, frozen, for a long moment, each of them painfully aware of the other's arousal. Wyatt licked his lips. He could feel them hanging on the edge of a precipice. He was certain that if he rolled them over right now, in this dark, warm burrow, and gave into his impulse, Tseer would let him. He was also certain that would be taking advantage of whatever fragile relationship they had built.

Without saying a word, Wyatt slowly untangled himself from Tseer. He grabbed the pile of his clothes, now dry, and crawled out from under the tree. The snow had stopped, thankfully, and he noted as he pulled on his pants that they had actually made it across the river, although judging by the scenery they were significantly downstream from where they had begun their crossing. A few minutes later, Tseer emerged from the burrow, already dressed and avoiding eye contact. Wyatt stretched and tested all of his limbs, waiting for Tseer to say something, but Tseer remained quiet.

Resolving to totally ignore what had just happened, Wyatt gestured vaguely at the plain in front of them. "Good to go?"

"Yeah," said Tseer, but he didn't move. He was staring at the irregular patch of ice that marked the hole where Wyatt had pulled them out of the river. His feathers were pulled in tight to his body, and his talons were closed fists at his side. The memory of Tseer, soaked and lifeless, rose in Wyatt's mind and he shuddered.

Stepping forward, Wyatt reached out a hesitant hand and touched Tseer's shoulder. "Look, before we get going," he began, "I'm sorry about last night." Tseer looked up at him, his gaze fierce and unnerving, as he continued. "For making you cross the river, I mean. It was dangerous and nearly got us killed." Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck. "And I'm sorry I called you a coward. You've been nothing but brave since we got here. If you're angry at me, I understand. I'm not asking you to not be mad at me, I'm just...glad you're alive, I guess."

"Yeah," said Tseer, and a few of the feathers on the back of his head fluffed up. "Me too."


End file.
